


Midnight

by Luciferine



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, Written Prior to Sequel Release, a small bit of angst due to uncertainty and miscommunication, but its all sorted in the end, but theyre basically on the run from the fireflies, ellie is over 18 but under 21 so tagged to be safe, not a whole lot of plot explanation because that wasnt the purpose, some mild innuendo from ellie, thats the only reason for the underage tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5595136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luciferine/pseuds/Luciferine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Holed up in a motel on New Year's Eve, Joel and Ellie get to talking about resolutions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Modern AU, mostly unspecified, but basically they're still on the run from the Fireflies, have been for some time, and are holed up in some tiny motel in the middle of nowhere. Mostly, just an excuse for banter and fluff. Prompt for Anonymous on Tumblr.

The lights, the excitement, the roar of the crowd- even on a crappy motel TV, north of The Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Times Square looks magical. Ellie rests her chin on her knees and sighs. “You ever been?” she asks, without taking her eyes off the screen.

There’s a moment of silence as Joel stops rummaging through his bag, thinks on his answer. “New York? No.”

“Never smuggled anything through there? Or anyone?”

“Never smuggled anybody before you, girl. You know that.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. I was your first.” It’s probably a good thing she can’t see his face, because she can feel his thunderous glare through the back of her armchair. She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter, but she’s sure he can hear, regardless. As much as she teases him about his age, his hearing just seems to get sharper with every stupid stunt she pulls.  

“And look where _that_ got me,” he mutters, something close enough to amusement beneath the words that she doesn’t regret the joke. He lets her push, maybe more than he should, but she always wonders if one day he’ll lose patience with her. They’ve been together long enough that it’s unlikely, but sometimes…

She shakes off the thought, teases again because that’s what he’ll expect. “Shut up, you love me.”

He scoffs. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.” She rolls her eyes, hears him snort like he can see her. Hell, maybe he _can_. If anyone is stubborn enough to be omnipresent, it’s _Joel._ “You like it?” he asks after a moment.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “It’s pretty, don’t you think?” Even on the static-filled screen, the light are gorgeous. She watches the close-ups of the smiling crowd with a fair bit of envy.

“Whole lotta fuss for just one night.” She flushes with embarrassment, shrugs even though he can’t see. “You’re right, though. Real pretty,” he adds, and there’s a sort of sadness there; she thinks maybe he understands more than she gives him credit for. “Maybe we can go some time,” he offers. “When this all blows over.”

She smiles, a little sadly. She knows he means it –Joel doesn’t lie to her, a few notable exceptions aside- but it’s been a long, long time and they’re nowhere close to ‘blown over’. But they still make plans, partly out of boredom and partly because they would go insane otherwise. “After we see the Statue of Liberty, and see a show on Broadway, and you take me to Texas so I can duel somebody at high noon.”

“I need to stop showin’ you westerns.”

“Fuck that. We’re renting _Pale Rider_ again the next time we’ve got any way to watch movies.”

He hums nonchalantly, and she knows that’s as good as a promise. “Listen, I… I’m sorry,” he says, startling her.

She turns her head to look at him. “About what?”

His smiles wryly. “You’re in a crappy motel room with a grumpy old bastard, runnin’ for your life instead of doin’ shit like that.” He gestures to the screen, and there’s something so damned _sad_ in his eyes that she can’t bear to leave it there.

“I wouldn’t be in Times Square if I _hadn’t_ met you, dumbass. I’d probably be spending New Years in a shelter. Or in the ground, depending. Do the Fireflies still exist in this hypothetical universe?” She makes a grabbing motion toward her open bag, more to distract him than out of any real need. “Water.”

“That ain’t funny,” he mutters, tossing her a plastic bottle.

“Wasn’t supposed to be; it’s the truth. I’m not missing out on anything by being with you.” She twists the cap off the bottle, sighing forlornly. “If only it was champagne,” she sighs dramatically, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

He scoffs, turning his gaze away to the torn curtains of their motel room. “Yeah, because we know how well you handle your booze.”

“ _One time_ , old man. Let it go.”

He fixes her with a level look. “If I recall correctly, I wasn’t the one letting it all go while some poor bastard held my hair for me.” She flips him off and he continues, for _sure_ just to needle her, “Less than half a beer, kid. You’re some kinda lightweight, that’s for sure.”

She grimaces. It definitely wasn’t her finest moment. “Yeah? Whose bright idea was it to supply the underage girl with alcohol?”

“ _Yours_. You stole it from me when I went to the bathroom.”

“You’re not supposed to leave your drink unattended,” she retorts, sipping her water smugly when that earns a laugh out of him. “I’m happy, you know,” she says after there’s quiet again. “Being with you, here.”

“Pretty sure even the roaches ain’t happy to be here,” he mutters, but there’s a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You know what I mean. No regrets, is all I’m saying.” His expression softens into something that makes her belly ache. “Now shut up and let me watch the giant ball drop.”

“Scoot,” he demands, grabbing another water bottle and crossing the room –all three square feet of it- in barely two strides.

“There’s no _room_ ,” she whines, drumming her heels against the chair.

He rolls his eyes, dropping a hand to poke her in the ribs, grinning when she yelps. “Can’t see shit from the bed, and I ain’t sittin’ on the floor. Lord only knows what else has been in here.”

“Ugh, fine.” She pulls herself up to balance on the overstuffed arm of the chair, narrowing her eyes at him as he settles into the seat.

“Thanks, kid.” He raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised at her sudden generosity. She beams, and promptly drops herself into his lap. “ _Ellie_.” His voice is just a little unsteady, and she stretches her legs out with _intense_ satisfaction.

“ _Yes_?”

He shuts his eyes and exhales very, _very_ slowly. “Off.”

“But there’s nowhere else to _go_.” He opens his eyes to glare as she makes a show of looking around, fixing him with wide, innocent eyes when she’s done.

He growls something unintelligible under his breath. “If you squirm, I’m droppin’ you,” he mutters, just a little bit gruffer than usual.

“You won’t even know I’m here,” she assures him, grabbing the remote to turn up the volume.

“I _sincerely_ doubt that.” But he lets her rest her head against his bicep, and doesn’t say any more on the subject.

“Hey, Anderson Cooper!” she says, grinning as the news anchor appears on screen. “I missed this guy.”

“Ain’t he a little old for you?” Joel grumbles.

She rolls her eyes, smacking his chest with her hand. “First of all, gross. Not my type. Second of all, the dude literally _never ages_. It’s a conspiracy. I’m conducting research; you’ll thank me when I make us millions revealing that he was actually an alien sent to infiltrate humankind. I was wondering if he’d been called back to the mothership, or something.”  

She feels Joel relax a little beneath her and she would laugh, if the whole thing didn’t make her face warm. “Not yet. Too busy scopin’ out New York, I reckon.”

“Clearly. Shady bastard. But I’m on to him.”

“He should be terrified.”

She tosses her hair back. “Damn straight.”

“You’re a weird kid,” he says fondly, and she elbows him with only token effort as he wraps his other arm around her.

Any other time, she would let the nickname slide, maybe toss a few of her own in his direction. But her mouth has a habit of running ahead of her brain when she isn’t careful, and she’s having too much fun to be nearly careful enough, so she blurts, “I’m an adult, y’know.”

He guffaws. “How d’you figure?”

She rolls her eyes and fixes him with an exasperated look. “I may not be old enough to drink yet, but I'm closer to being a functioning adult than I was when I met you,” she reminds him, grimaces as she remembers herself, a scrawny kid with a chip on her shoulder. Well, some things never change. 

“And I’m closer to dyin’ than I was when I met you. _Much_ closer, what with all the times you’ve scared the shit outta me. Don’t mean I’m gonna keel over right now.”

She digs her fingers hard into his forearm.  “You better not.”

“Got no plans to,” he assures her.

“And for the new year?” she asks, dropping the age argument altogether. They’ve been over it a thousand times, and she’s no more likely to win today than she ever was before. “Any resolutions?”

“Just told you. Don’t die.”

She frowns. “That’s it?”

“Keep you safe.” He ruffles her hair, and she’s too comfortable to do more than huff her annoyance. “Kinda goes along with not dyin’, though, so I don’t know if it counts.”

“It counts,” she says, a little quiet.

He clears his throat. “What about you?”

She smiles a little. “Don’t die. Keep you safe.” _As if anything else matters._

“Can’t just copy me,” he chides, completely without force. “There’s gotta be _somethin’_ else you wanna do.”

“Whistle the national anthem? Swim a lap without almost dying?” she jokes, but he’s looking at her with such seriousness that she finds she can’t keep up the deflection. She swallows heavily, heart in her throat, and hopes to God she isn’t reading him wrong. _Ah, fuck it._ “Get kissed at midnight?”

His eyes don’t widen, he doesn’t even look that shocked. He says nothing. Her stomach drops out and she shuts her eyes. _He knows_ , she thinks, completely horrified. _He’s known this whole time. I’m such a fucking idiot._

And because the universe hates her, despises her to the icy cold depths of its being, Anderson Cooper, the smug bastard, takes that exact moment to shout, “Ten seconds to midnight!”

 _Ten._ “Joel, I-”

 _Nine_. “Ellie-”

 _Eight_. “Forget it.”

 _Seven_. “Not likely.”

 _Six_. “ _Please_.”

 _Five_. “It’s alright.”

 _Four_. “It’s _not_.”

 _Three_. “Ellie.”

 _Two_. “I’m _sorry_.”

 _One_.

_Oh._

He’s so _warm_. She knows that –at least she thinks she does, she’s not so sure what she does and doesn’t know right now because _Joel is kissing her_ \- but it’s one thing to be grateful for his body heat and a whole other thing to have his mouth on hers, have that warmth _right_ against her.

She tries to say something along the lines of, _“You don’t have to do this,”_ or maybe something a little less coherent, but every time she tries he’s _there_ , licking the words off her tongue before she can form them. And God, she just wants to leave it at that and concentrate on kissing him back because there’s an art to this she _has not_ picked up yet and he seems _damned_ willing to teach her.

But she tries, because –she’s a self-sabotaging _idiot_ \- she knows Joel and she knows he wouldn’t think twice about doing this to make her happy and she _won’t_ let him do that. She’s happy enough with friendship, happy with their weird, beautiful platonic bond and she can’t let him _do this_ , not for her. He deserves to be happy, and she wants that more than anything else in the world. Even _this_ , which is saying something because she is having the time of her _life_ right now.

Finally, he pulls back to give her air, mouthing at her jaw, her neck, his beard scratching at her bare skin – _that’s gonna leave a mark_ , she thinks giddily- and _oh_ can he not do that, she needs to _think-_ “Joel,” she manages, heart breaking a little as his mouth stops moving.

“Unless it’s some variation of ‘stop’ or ‘get the fuck off me’, I don’t wanna hear it. We clear?” he growls, and he pulls back just enough that she can see his eyes, and oh, _his eyes._ He’s never let her see him like this, never let her get a read on him, and she wants to _cry,_ she feels so cheated.

She wants to ask him why he never told her, why they haven’t been doing this for _ages_ , but she already thinks she knows the answers and she doesn’t want to waste any more time. Instead, she says, “We’re clear,” and it comes out breathy and high and _dumb_ and she’s fucking _mortified_ , but he looks at her with this awestruck expression she’s never seen before and pulls her back so hard she thinks he’ll leave bruises – _who fucking cares-_ and- _oh_. Yeah, she can get used to this.   

The new year comes in on three certainties. _Three:_ a thousand miles away, the crowd at Times Square screams, “Happy New Year!” through a crappy motel TV north of Nowhere. _Two:_ on an overstuffed armchair in that motel, Joel laughs against her mouth when she tries to unbutton his shirt, says, “Later,” and tries to keep his hands on her waist. _One:_ Ellie is so fucking happy she just might die.  


End file.
